Modern Fairytale ~ #Wattys2015

An Air of Mystery

It was a typical lazy Sunday. Not a peep was heard from Apartment 13 until ten when Regina finally rolled out of bed. She'd been awake since eight after a rather restful slumber. She'd put her glasses on and did some reading; a few articles on Buzzfeed (her guilty pleasure), flipped through that Victoria Secret catalog, sorted through some files she kept on her nightstand to look over before work the next morning.

She stood up next to her bed, stretching away the sleep that lingered in her tired muscles before making her way into the kitchen. She turned on her Keurig coffee maker, placing a vanilla bean cappuccino k-cup into the top, and pressed start once her favorite mug was set in place to fill with her morning caffeine fix.

Once her coffee was done, she sat on the living room couch with her feet curled beneath her in silence. Sometimes she just enjoyed those brief moments of nothing: no rushing out the door, no morning traffic, no screaming clients, no teenage tantrums. It was times like this that made her coffee taste even better.

She thought about Robin and wondered what his Sunday morning routine was like. He did have a seven year old so she imagined he wasn't afforded the luxury of rolling out of bed to a quiet home at ten in the morning. She chuckled to herself and sipped her coffee, picturing that little munchkin of his running around in a cape and mask or begging to watch cartoons before breakfast. She often missed when Henry was that small and actually wanted her to spend time with him.

Do they have any groceries, the thought struck her suddenly. They did just move in and he seemed to have his hands full with Roland. It sparked a wonderful idea into her mind: Lasagna. She made a lasagna that was to die for (those were Henry's exact words) and it would be enough food to last them until he could get to the store. And if he'd already gone, it was a nice meal when he was too busy to cook between the stress of teaching, unpacking, and raising a seven year old. It was a nice, neighborly gesture and a chance to see him again; whether she was willing to admit that or not.

Regina stood from her spot on the couch and hurried to the refrigerator, placing her coffee on the counter before gathering the ingredients. She kept a container of homemade marinara sauce in the freezer so she didn't have to spend hours on every Italian dish she prepared each month. She took that out to defrost for a bit and grabbed her baking dish from the drawer below the stove.

The lasagna noodles were in the refrigerator, fresh from the Italian delicatessen she ventured into Little Italy for every few weeks. Was it cheating? Probably. But when was she supposed to find time to make it from scratch? What the consumers didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

She set the oven to preheat and took out the ricotta and mozzarella cheese. She placed the mozz on her cutting board and sliced into it with expert precision. When she was done and had a fair amount of cheese sliced, she sprayed the baking dish with cooking spray so the lasagna wouldn't stick to the bottom while it cooked.

The first layer looked delicious already: a noodle topped with slightly frozen marinara 'meat' sauce (it was a faux meat made from black beans), ricotta, then beautifully even slices of mozzarella. She chopped fresh garlic into very fine pieces and sprinkled a few in, adding her secret ingredient, red pepper flakes, shortly after.

Regina repeated this process until the lasagna reached almost to the top of the dish, leaving a quarter inch of rising room for when it baked. She leaned forward and opened the oven carefully placing the dish on the center of the top rack. She pushed it closed and set the timer, wiping her hands on her apron with a satisfied smile.